Chains
by MoonlightBard
Summary: Hawke is captured by Fenris's old master, Danarius. But when the frantic elf rushes to save his lover, what happens when he discovers that Danarius has changed Hawke?
1. Chapter 1- Captured

Hawke's head ached. All of her body ached, in fact. When she tried to move her hands, to climb up off of the hard surface she was sitting on, her movements were sluggish and clumsy. _Have I been drinking?_ Hawke tried to clench and unclench her normally supple fingers, but they barely twitched. _Even the piss they serve at the Hanged Man couldn't do this._ She fought to move anything, the only part of her that hadn't completely betrayed her were her eyelids. They felt like slabs of limestone, but they opened slowly. Her vision was hazy, and the room she was in was dark, but she could make out the flickering of a torch and the shimmer of wetness on stone. Her legs were sprawled in front of her, and with a jerk of her head, she could see a thick chain and cuff attached to her right wrist. The weapon she usually wore attached to her hip was gone, along with the one usually pressed against her thigh, from what she could feel. Her tongue was fuzzy and felt thick and clumsy in her mouth, when she tried to speak only a low croak came from her throat. She struggled to form any kind of coherent thought, where she was last, what had happened, but it all seemed vague and far-away, and her throbbing head wasn't helping. _I am trapped, in a dungeon, without knowing where I am, where any of my friends are, and my head feels like I took a tumble down all the streets of Kirkwall._

Hawke sighed, and tried to focus on a spot on the wall. The stone looked slimy, there was a shimmer on the wall, as if it were coated in oil, the floor underneath her certainly felt like it. Her vision swam, and then the blurriness decreased until the wall came into focus. The strange movement on the wall, the colored reflections, were most definitely not oil, or slime. It danced and rippled, it was magic. Throwing her head to the side she looked at her chained hand, glowing runes were scored into the iron, preventing any spells from being cast, Hawke assumed. _It won't work very well on me, I suppose. Not being a mage. Whoever holds me her is either not aware of whom I am, or they are incredibly cautious. _A thin curtain of rippling air served as the door to her cell. Beyond that there seemed to be a long corridor, darkness swallowing the end of it. Hawke cleared her throat, noting its absence of dryness, _I guess they want to keep my in good shape, _and then tried her voice again.

"Hello? Is there anyone out there?" There was a small noise of rustling fabric, and she could make out a thin shape standing outside.

"Finally, it took you long enough. The Master's patience has been wearing thin." The voice was male and young, the owner's body looking as small as the voice had been. Their form blurred in front of her eyes, and footsteps echoed down the long hallway as they retreated. _Master? That boy was a slave? Maybe it's slavers that have me here, I would fetch a pretty copper, I suppose. _Hawke couldn't be particularly surprised that it could be a slaver, but she still shuddered at the thought. No-one should own another. She flexed her fingers again, but the reaction was still nothing more than a twitch. Her legs responded in a similar way, a slight bit of movement, but whatever they had used on her wasn't wearing off soon. She wished that one of her daggers was with her, even with the slightest bit of movement she could pick the lock off of nearly anything. Minutes crawled by, every second she expected to here either the click of an opening door, someone to retrieve her and to take her to whomever the 'Master' is, or the quiet gurgle of a dying guard. But then there was a twinge of fear in Hawke's belly, a tiny flame that suggested, _Maybe you aren't getting out of this one, maybe this time you're companions aren't coming to get you._ That rattled her more than any idea of slavers, or anything else, for that matter.

Doubts almost never plagued Hawke. For the most part she was fearless and more than a little bit foolhardy. But it was earned. Her friends, her little band of mismatched people that fit together in a strange, but wonderful, way, had never let her down before, and she liked to think that she hadn't let them down either. She was proud of that. Hawke stopped thinking for the most part then, just hoping that someone came to get her eventually.

Finally, after at least two hours, there was the screeching noise of a door desperately needing oil being pushed open. Hawkes head shot up, the world snapping into focus. Lazy thoughts had been drifting though her head, she was still woozy and a bit nauseous from whatever had knocked her out. Low voices murmured and became louder slowly. Two sets of footsteps sounded, one, a quiet pitter-patter of someone with short legs trying to keep up with someone faster than them, and the other, louder steps, the click of boots on stone, and the whisper of a robe swishing though the air.

"-awake but still a bit woozy, I don't think she can move yet." The voice from before, shaking a bit in what seemed to be nervousness.

"You are certain that she can communicate?" The other voice was oily, and full of confidence.

"Yes, absolutely. When can you get her out of here?" The second set of footsteps stopped, and the other skittered to a halt. The sound of flesh hitting flesh bounced off the walls.

"Do not rush me, boy. I do not need to ask you to give me respect again, do I?" The voice hissed. Hawke could see the faint outline of the two, one figure towered over the other.

"N-No."

"No what?" A sigh came from the boy.

"No, master."

"Yes, very good. Now, let's not keep the little bird waiting." The figures came closer, the boy trailing behind the other man. The man raised his arm, and snapped his figures. The glowing barrier disappeared, making the blurriness fade until Hawke could see the two clearly.

The boy was thin, with small brown eyes and short black hair. He was human, with a red mark spreading across his left cheek. The man was tall, with greying hair and cold, pale eyes. He had a light beard, with deep lines around his cruel mouth and nose.

"Ah the hawk finally awakens good, good. I was beginning to worry, my pet. I thought that perhaps you would never wake, and that another would have to be found." Hawke stared at the man cautiously.

"Who would be, if I am now you're **pet**?" Hawke spat out the last word with contempt.

"I am hurt; I thought Fenris would have told you of me. I am Danarius." Hawke swallowed nervously, _if this_ _Danarius is the monster that burned Lyrium into his skin, why am I here, to be tested upon?_

"He has told me of you. Why would you need me? You could have simply taken him instead if you still want your little plaything." Danarius chuckled.

"I have you, if my sources were correct, he should come running soon enough." He nodded to the boy. "Until then, we can start." As the boy turned Danarius raised his arm again. He snapped. The sound echoed sharply and pain lanced though Hawke's body. Her vision swam, she saw the runes of the chain glow brighter for a moment, then darkness.


	2. Chapter 2- Aware

It was raining in Kirkwall. For a few days ominous grey clouds hung over the city, until the morning of the ninth day of Hawke's still unnoticed absence, did the clouds release torrents of rain down upon the cities denizens. It wasn't until the 16th day that Aveline came knocking on the door of Hawke's estate and saw Bodahn's concerned face that anybody realized that Hawke couldn't be found. He rambled to her on the doorstep, wringing his hands with anxiety and worry. He invited her inside; Aveline's face now a mirror of his own.

"Two week? Are you sure?" Bodahn nodded to the Guard-Captains question. They were sitting at the table in the kitchen; Orana was preparing a small meal in the corner of the room, her head turned and jaw clenched as she listened to their discussion. Aveline's body was tight as a bowstring, stress in every muscle of her body. Something was wrong, and even Bodahn, who wasn't the most perceptive, knew it too.

"It's not uncommon for her to disappear occasionally, I know she needs solitude, but I don't think she has ever been gone for so long." Aveline shook her head in confusion.

"Where could she be?" Bodahn stood, and then gestured for the Guard-Captain to follow him.

"We can check her room, she always is making notes and scribbling down little things on that desk. If something was going to happen I will bet you that it's somewhere in that mess.." Bodahn tried to keep his pace calm and controlled, panic was not an emotion he wished to be swallowed by. They both took a deep breath to prepare themselves, bracing for some unknown horrific thing that waited behind that door. At first the lock wouldn't budge, but with a swift kick it crashed open.

Hawkes room was in shambles. Bed sheets were rumpled and torn off the bed, large rips in the deep red fabric. Armor stands had been knocked over in an obvious struggle, a boot lay next to the fireplace, the most well-worn and well-cared for cuirass was unbuckled and cracked nearly in two. Hawke's favorite pair of daggers lay on the floor. Marks of spells covered the walls, a scorch mark, rubble from a destroyed wardrobe was strewn near the far wall, and a part of the wooden frame was embedded in the wall. In the corner there was the slumped body of a corpse, robes torn and a sword piercing her chest. She was clothed in Tevinter robes; the yellow fabric stained a dark red from her blood. A line of blood trailed from near the bed to the window, which was thrown open, drapes torn and tangled. Hawke had been taken, and she hadn't gone down without a fight.

"How could have nobody heard this happen? I've heard that cuirass get knocked over before; half of Hightown probably heard it. I've been out of the house once in the last week and when I left I let Orana in charge. That girl startles when a pin drops, there is no way she didn't," Bodahn was interrupted by the sound of a blade unsheathing.

"You weren't supposed to find out." Orana stood, holding a small dagger, a small dagger that Hawke had purchased for her, Bodahn remembered. "He said you wouldn't find out, he promised that I wouldn't get in trouble." The girl's green eyes were huge, and fearful. She was shaking like a leaf, thin arms trembling. Aveline stepped towards her, mouth curled in rage, blade held out to touch the base of Orana's throat.

"What in the Maker's name did you do?!" The girl backed up, she was pressed against the wall, knife shaking in her small hands.

"He said he would hurt everyone if I didn't help, he said I wouldn't get in trouble. If I didn't help Hawke was going to get hurt." Her voice was shaking worse than her hands. A thin line of blood trickled down her neck, quickly joined by tears that were streaming down her face.

"Does it look like they didn't hurt her, there's blood in the room, the dragged her out the window, what else could they have done?!" Aveline was nearly touching the girl, eyes filled with anger. The girl shook her head, almost losing grip on the knife. Aveline grabbed it, and Orana curled into a ball on the floor. She was sobbing, half from terror, and half from guilt and embarrassment.

"He didn't mean now, later, he said. He said it was going to hurt anyway, but if I didn't help he said he would hurt her on purpose." Aveline straightened, arm curving upward, preparing to strike the girl with her longsword, but Bodahn grabbed her arm.

"Who's 'he', Orana? Do you remember what he looked like?" Orana looked up at him and nodded.

"He didn't say who he was, but the woman with him kept calling him Master. He was old, with grey hair and a beard. He scared me." Bodahn drew Aveline away from Orana, and crouched down to her.

"Was he wearing robes like that woman? Tevinter ones?" She nodded, and Bodahn looked up and Aveline. "If there's anyone who would know who this man was, it's Fenris.

Fenris was pacing in his manner, teeth gritted in annoyance and worry. Water dripped from the half-patched roof, he remembered when Hawke had tried to help him fix it. She had smiled the whole time, even while she was perched on top of a decaying mansion adjusting planks, at any moment able to fall to her death. That smile was seared into him, deeper than the lyrium could ever go.

Something wasn't right, and it set his teeth on edge. The silence was oppressive, thick and foreboding. Even rain usually didn't keep Hawke away; she had missed two of his his reading lessons. The door below opened, heavy footfalls sounding through the mansion. _Hawke?_ He moved to the door, and spotted flaming red hair. His momentary elation was replaced with a deeper sense of trouble. Nobody ever stopped to simply say hello, anyone that wasn't Hawke, at least.

"I know that you don't want to be here, but Bodahn couldn't come. He needs to keep an eye on Orana, don't complain." That was Aveline. _Why couldn't Bodahn come? __There was another set of footsteps, not accompanied by the clink of armor like the other was, but still not Hawke,_

"But you haven't even told me why I'm here." Anders. He was whiny, like he usually sounded to Fenris. _Anders would never come here, even if Hawke got down on her knees and begged._

Anders was the first to appear, a glare on his face to match the scowl of worry that Fenris was wearing. Aveline was close behind, and her face was somber, green eyes worried.

"I have to tell both of you something, something I would prefer that we keep quiet before we know what to do about the situation. I need you to promise me," her eyes rested heavily on Fenris, his gut twisting in anxiety. "Something has happened, something terrible. Hawke is gone." At first there was no reaction from either of the men, Fenris' face went slack.

"What do you mean, gone?" Anders spoke first. "Like, she we can't find her or where she went gone, or she left the city, good luck going on with your lives, gone?" The humor in his voice was doing a poor job of hiding his worry.

"Neither, Anders. She hasn't been seen for two weeks. Bodahn and I went into her room, it was ripped apart. Blood on the floor, armor strewn about, and a corpse." Fenris's pulse jumped up. _Blood? A corpse? Maker what has happened to her?_"I came to you, Fenris, not only because I know that you have an," her eyes went to the red scarf tied around his slim wrist and the crest on his belt, "emotional attachment, and because you may have knowledge we need. Orana had been contacted by a mage, a Tevinter mage." Fenris's blood ran cold; his breath seemed knocked out of his lungs. Aveline watched with sympathetic eyes as she watched the elf freeze, before she continued. "He was old, with a silver beard and hair. Do you know of him?" He was cold, mind not functioning, _no, Maker, no don't let this be happening. It can't be, it cannot be. It's been years, Hadrianna has been dealt with. _

"Why had the servant been contacted?" Anders asked, but Aveline shot him a look. Fenris started toward the door, eyes blazing. Aveline grabbed his arm, and his markings flared a white-blue. He didn't turn, just jerked her arm off his shoulder and clenched his fists so hard that his nails left crescent shapes gouged into his palms. Aveline stepped closer to him, trying not to cause any more distress to him.

"Who is it Fenris? Who has her?" Her gentle voice hurt more than any shout could. Fenris' shoulders slumped, his head dropped, he looked defeated. He turned toward the two once more, and with a look of mixed sorrow and anger he said one word.

"Danarius."


	3. Chapter 3- The Breaking

Pain fogged Hawkes mind, a red mark on her left cheek accompanying her old battle scar.

"Now, now, pet. It's worse when you fight, at least the rest of my people acknowledge that." Danarius' rough fingers traced Hawke's jaw, painfully gentle. She flinched away, shackles and collar clattering against the wall as she collided with it. "If only you weren't so resistant, maybe then all this would be over." A wave of dizziness washed over her, making her eyes droop and her vision blur. "**Obey.**" _No, no, I will not give him the satisfaction, not now, not ever. _The persuasion was failing, again, like it had three times before, but it was getting harder to block him out.

Danarius growled and backed away from her, leaning against the wall from exhaustion. His pale eyes burned into her bowed head, frustration gnawing at him like a hound. He waved at the elf girl waiting outside, and with a small nod she rushed off, footsteps quickly fading. Hawke stirred, a bead of sweat dripping down her curved nose. Her blue eyes challenged him, even if that collar stopped the noise from her throat. He wished desperately to wring her neck, to make her bend her knee to him and do as he commanded. The normal methods proved to be inadequate for her, her drive, her pure power of will was keeping him out. But she was tiring. Her barriers were cracking. _Just one more push. Just one more accursed push and then she will stop fighting. The process will be so much easier, the chance of fatality plummets when they obey. _The girl was returning now, carrying bottled of lyrium potion, the strongest that could be found. He snatched them out of her dark hands, dismissing her without words, only the harsh jerk of his back away from her. In seconds he had drained one of the bottles. His greying cheeks flushed with energy, with the next one he no longer had to lean on the wall, the third and the forth making him feel almost young again. _Perhaps I am overdoing it. _The thrum of power was almost overpowering, but he turned to the bowed woman and placed his hands on her cheeks.

Hawke tried to move away, but the power that ran through the magister was impossible to get away from. His eyes were mad, an insane lust for power swimming in the pale irises. Before the feeling hit, there was just a sense of pressure. Pressure building in her head. She fought, Maker she fought. All the mental barriers she had managed to put up, but it wasn't enough. Building, building, building, until the real magic pierced through that first, so carefully constructed layer of defense.A strangled cry ripped from Hawkes throat, pain ripping through her skull like a jagged knife. There was a smug confidence in Danarius, she could feel him, probing through her memories, her thoughts, her feeling. He chuckled at some of them, and she felt heat rise to her cheeks at the ones he laughed at.

_Oh my little wolf playing with birds, well, this is what happens when you mess with my things, Hawke._ She twisted her body, as if trying to escape that voice that chilled her to the bone. He went deeper, mind completely open, all fight beaten out of the exhausted woman's mind. It seemed to go on forever, her life being replayed and laughed at by the cruel man. Tears were wet on her cheeks before he backed away, satisfied.

"Come now, it's time." Hawke looked up at him tiredly, blue eyes dulled from tiredness. With a flick of his fingers the chains broke and the collar fell to the ground with a reverberating clang. He pulled her to her feet, supporting her against his strong side as she stumbled along. They passed many rooms, but Hawkes tired mind didn't register anything more but the occasional flash of a brazier. For a moment she though she caught a glimpse of white hair and moss green eyes, but the vision swam away when they arrived at a large black door made of metal. The doors swung inward at the mages lightest touch.

"Now, we can start. It took far longer than I would have liked, it's time to start." Hawke opened her mouth in question and protest, but her mind was too jumbled to form cohesive sentences. The mage deposited her on a slab of stone, and she curled into a ball at the feel of lyrium on the stone. Through her blurry vision she could make out runes etched out on the table, but her head was jerked away before she could get a good look at them. Her arms and legs were strapped down, the feeling of iron on her skin made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. For a moment she could see the white-blue color of raw lyrium, a piercing, burning pain on her left arm, before she blacked out, and fell into a deep sleep.


	4. Chapter 4- A Delivery

The table in Varric's suite was full of fidgeting, worry-ridden people. Merrill sat with her head in her hands, mumbling to herself. Her eyes were full of unshed tears, she was still in shock from the news, _Hawke taken by Fenris' old master, the chains he thought he escaped ensnared someone he cares about. Poor, poor Fenris. _She watched his mad pacing, the tension in every cord of muscle as he clenched and unclenched his fists, the sharp movements of his head when there was even the slightest sound from outside the door. His eyes were burning, moss green and filled with rage and worry.

Fenris' mind was stumbling over itself, running through thoughts he had already pounded down with the force of his worry. _There's no way to find out where she's been taken, it could be anywhere between Tevinter and here, so many places to search, and so little time. _Everyone in the room felt as if there was an invisible timer burned into their flesh, seconds ticking down until some unknown point-of-no-return. They only knew two real things, Hawke was gone, and Danarius had taken her. The second one of those things had been scalded into Fenris' heart with an iron-hot rod of guilt. _Who knows what he's planning to do with her, for all we know she could be already-_ he stopped again, he wasn't going to think about that. Hawke was alive, he knew it. The pain of worry and anger had stoked the fire of determination. He was going to get her back, and after she was safe he was going to rip out the magister bastards' heart. Fenris sighed, and sat down on one of the hard stone chairs. Merrill was watching him with those damn big green eyes. Hours passed, the candles lighting the room grew lower and lower, light dimming and the pit of despair in Fenris' stomach deepening. Anders stood silently in the corner, two fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He was nearly as tense as Fenris, although, he noted in smug approval, he was doing a much better job of hiding it than the elf was. Nearly instantly he chastised himself for such thinking. _That elf, broody and angst-ridden as he is, has been doing more worrying for the past day than anyone should. _He glanced at the door for what had to have been the hundredth time, and shook his head.

"What's taking her so long?" Fenris low growl had broken the long silence that had gripped the room. "We've been waiting since mid-morning, and now the light is starting to fade." Isabela shifted uncomfortably from her position of leaning against the wall.

"She's trying the best she can, if it's been hours it's only because she hasn't stopped asking questions." Anders answered. "Their tracks must have been well-concealed, or else the nobles would have noticed it right away. It would be hard to not notice a trail of blood from the newly-appointed Champions manor. She'll be here eventually Fenris, it will take time, but it will be alright in the end, just have some faith." Fenris shot him a glare.

"What Hawke doesn't have is time." He stood from the chair and moved towards the door with wearied steps. "When Aveline comes, send someone. Until then I cannot simply sit here like a fool." He wrenched the door open and slinked out, the door shuddering closed behind him. Gradually the smell of food came up from the tavern. Another hour passed, maybe two, until Anders had to change the candles, grumbling about how, "My hands are a healers hands, not a maids.", and Merril shot him a look that could have curdled milk.

After a near indefinite amount of waiting and silent torture, Varric sighed, and looked up from the documents he had been reading, eyes bloodshot and tired.

"What are we to do now? What if Aveline cannot find a thing?" Merrill's thin face was drawn with worry. "Even if we find where she is, how will we get there? The Free Marches are treacherous at this time; the ground would swallow us up before we ever found her." Varric patted her on the shoulder and gave her a small half-smile.

"Now, now, Daisy, we'll get her back, and," he added with a small grin, "that elf would manage to walk on water if it meant saving her." Merril smiled a bit, the corners of her thin lips creeping up only the slightest bit before it vanished, as everyone else turned to face the door as the loud pounding of footsteps and the clank of armor came from just behind it. For that moment, if anybody had asked them, the sound of that armor clanking in the hallway had to be one of the most beautiful sounds the group had ever heard. The door flew open and Aveline stepped inside, red hair disheveled from its usual style and a small smirk on her face. Her green eyes were practically glittering, pride and exhaustion wrapped into one.

"We have our trail." At that moment, Varric nearly felt the urge to kiss that woman, as did Anders. "It's older than I would've liked, but as long as the weather stays good, we should be fine." Merrill's jaw tightened a little at that.

"The heavier rains will start soon; we should leave as swiftly as we can. Do you have any idea where it goes?" Her eyes were bright with excitement and anxiety. Aveline nodded. "It goes out through the Wounded Coast, and as far as I've heard it goes toward Tevinter." Aveline sighed a bit at this, and sagged into one of the seats. "There are thousands of places between here and that blasted country, it could take years to find her, if we ever did." Isabela stepped away from the wall.

"She's in Tevinter, I'm sure of it. I've met a magister before, they are a pompous and dangerously powerful lot, but cautious. Son of a bitch inspected my ship six times before I was allowed to get any of their shiny trinkets in my hold. If Danarius is planning on doing anything less than just executing her then she is in Tevinter. There's been just enough time to get her there, that bastard." Isabel glanced about the room, golden eyes meeting each of the others. "Now, who's going to tell Fenris we know where the trail goes?" Every set of eyes dipped down, but Merrill's gaze was the last, a far off look of thought and near-planning caught in them. Varric patted her arm, and gave a sympathetic little smirk.

"Have fun, Daisy." Merrill face was confused for a moment.

"What, wait, where am I going? Oh no, I'm not going to enjoy it am I?" Varric chuckled at the dawning look of terror on the girl's face, before giving her a light shove toward the door.

"Broody's mansion, Hawke's location, and make sure he doesn't kill anybody." She sighed and walked out, leaving an uncomfortable silence in her wake. The room was quiet for minutes until Aveline broke it.

"While we wait, why don't we figure out how we're going to get to Tevinter, it's hard to rescue someone without some semblance of a plan. Anders and Isabel sauntered forward to lean on the table, while Varric cleared off a section of the table so he could start laying down a plan. Hawke was getting rescued, and they would be the ones to do it.

At first Fenris had wandered, unsure if he really wished to return to his borrowed home just yet. He strolled, as well as he could, walking stiffly through the markets and simply trying to get a moment of escape from the pounding anxiety in his gut. His hands never unclenched, never moved from his sides. The sharp metal edges of his glove dug into his palms, that tiny pain managed to distract him for a little while. It was growing dark before he actually returned to Hightown, his steps slow. The lamps made pools of light on the pavement, liquid gold spilling out onto the patterned stone. The stars far above where tiny pinpricks of silver on a deep blue-black backdrop of vast sky. His dark silhouette was the only moving thing, apart from the small patterns of flowers that clung to the tall buildings like children to a mother's skirt. As he neared the door to the mansion he had shackled himself to, he saw something on the doorstep. Something glimmering, light bouncing off of it. He ran the next couple of steps, hands trembling.

His breath seemed to stop for a moment as he looked down at the object in his hands. It was Hawke amulet. He couldn't remember her without it, even before he had met her that red jewel on the silver chain had hung below her throat. It always hung in the hollow at the base of her throat. That damnable throat, he had always wondered what it felt like. From where he had stood it had always looked so smooth, so pale and soft. He had envied the gem for years, but now it hung from his blood-stained fingers.

Underneath the amulet was an envelope, thick and creamy white, its front was adorned with a thick red seal. With shaking hands he stumbled inside, fingers tearing at the envelope, but he couldn't quite get the wax to separate. Everything around him blurred, the envelope in his hands smelled sickly sweet, like it had been soaked in perfume. He felt a bed under his thighs, and the wax finally gave way. A thin piece of paper fell out, elegant letters written in red ink. Then, with a soft sound like the tearing of silk, a small bundle slid out. It was tied with a ribbon the same color of the ink and of the wax. It was a lock of hair. The hairs were thick and black. As he touched it he remembered his fingers in the same hair, intertwined with her hair as they lay in bed, chests rising and falling with exhaustion and bliss. Rage stirred in Fenris' stomach as he peered at the letter. Even though he had had taken several lessons with Hawke, the marks on the page were just marks to him._ Danarius knows I can't read, he wouldn't send a letter to my doorstep. _But then the pit in his stomach got a little deeper. _Unless he's been watching us for a long time._ His heart was racing, pulse pounding, it almost drowned out the sound of a knock on the front door.

"Hello, Fenris?" It was Merril. He set down the hair, but kept the piece of parchment clutched in his fist. He ran down the stairs, nearly slamming into Merrill when he neared the front door. She started to say something, but Fenris didn't let her. His eyes were wide and desperate, and she shrank away from him for a moment.

"Merril can you read this?" He pushed it into her hands, and she stared down at the piece of paper.

"Yes, but I," He shook his head and Merrill looked down at the paper. Her eyes squinted at the loopy writing, and then started reading. "I have the bird, now that my wolf thinks he's escaped. If you try to find me, little wolf, the Champion will be harmed. You will know that it is done when night has turned to day and the black silk has turned to satin." She looked up for a moment; brows furrowed, but stopped herself from asking any questions. Fenris' face was blank, eyes solemn.

"Why are you here, Merrill?" His voice was tired, but there was a tiny bit of hope in it.

"We have a plan Fenris; we can get Hawke back within a month." Merrill's small smile faded from the look on Fenris' face. It was more than blank, drained and sorrowful.

"I cannot go. If I go then he will hurt her. I couldn't live with knowing that I was responsible for her pain." His eyes were dark and sad, shoulders sagging.

"Please, Fenris. Hawke needs you. You can help us." He didn't look at her as he left, amulet still clutched in his palm. _I will find you Hawke, I swear it._


	5. Chapter 5- Ivory

"How did this get on the elf's doorstep without anybody noticing?" Varric held the letter in one hand. The thick red seal appeared to be Tevinter in origin, although he wasn't in the least surprised. The ribbon that tied the lock of hair together had been red as well, a rich wine color that saturated the rogue's fingers when he had turned it over and over in his hands. Fenris had taken the hair and the amulet with him when he had been practically dragged back to his mansion, and after Anders had thoroughly examined both of them. He had protested, but eventually slunk inside. He hadn't been sleeping, or eating, and if the group wanted any chance of getting to Tevinter they needed everyone fed and not completely insane from weariness. Merril had been sent home too, but she went willingly, a small hand held over her mouth as she tried to stifle a yawn that stretched her thin face. Only Aveline, Varric, and Anders remained in the room. It was some ungodly hour, they weren't sure if to call it night, or very early morning.

"I don't know, I've doubled the patrols in Hightown since Hawke was taken, nobody could have gotten in our out without being seen by at least one guard." Aveline was nearly as agitated as Fenris had been, she had been pacing until Varric made a comment about how she should be careful to not catch the terminal broodiness the elf had seemed to have caught.

"What does this even mean 'when night has turned to day and the black silk has turned to satin', I don't see any satin or any black silk, thank you very much. Although I wouldn't mind some, fetches a lovely price in the market these days." Varric chuckled to himself before being shot a dirty look from Aveline. She knew that he made jokes even in the most inappropriate of times, and that it was the way he coped, but this, this circumstance was unacceptable. Out of everyone, Aveline might take the cake for the most worried, behind Fenris, of course. Everyone was tense, was worried, was a thick tangle of emotions, but Fenris, Fenris was a different kind of worried. If you looked at him he just looked tight, nervous, jaw set in a locked way that suggested much grinding of teeth. But if you watched, really watched him, sometimes you could see the hatred, the disappointment in someone, in himself, and a deep, almost bottomless sorrow. There was anger there too, of course there was. There was rage, burning, all-consuming lust to crunch the bones of who had taken Hawke and rip out the hearts out of those who had hurt her, but it was veiled. There was a kind of dismal acceptance in his gaze, thickly wrapping up the anger, blanketing the fire with a thick mist of _what ifs_, and threads of despair that floated through. Much sorrow had come, not just to the elf. The red-haired guard-captain with nerves of steel and a stubbornness that Hawke admired was quiet, reserved. Anger boiled beneath the surface, not veiled or clouded like Fenris', but hot and scorching. Pain had come to them, and Danarius would pay.

"You're sure, absolutely sure that there was nothing on that lock of her hair or the amulet?" Anders sighed, and ran his hands through his disheveled hair.

"There was nothing, or at least I couldn't detect anything. If there was any kind of enchantment then it was something that even I cannot find. I am sorry."

"It's not your fault Blondie, it's that bastard Danarius' fault." Varric patted the mage on the arm and glared at the papers on his table angrily, there had been no news, no leads to follow. Only the knowledge that somewhere in Tevinter there was a greasy magister that smelled of flowers and death who had one of the people that the group held most dear. There were steps outside the door, a light patter that was accompanied by the quiet jingle of jewelry. None of the companions looked up as the door swung open, and Isabela sashayed in. Her warm eyes were cold, but glinted with a fierce determination that Aveline saw as the pirate leaned against the wall of Varric's suite.

"I can get us to Tevinter in a month; maybe less if the wind is kind." All eyes darted to her, dim hope gleaming in their eyes. Every heart in the room lifted, even only by a small notch.

"Is there any faster way, Rivaini? We don't know if Hawke has that much time." Varric didn't like being the pessimist, Isabela managing to find a ship that was willing to go to Tevinter at the drop of a hat was rare enough, but he knew that hoping was dangerous. Hoping, however much he loved it, unless the hope was justified, could just as easily explode in your face than reward your joy with your goal.

"The road is unsafe, too many bandits, cutthroats and beasts for my tastes." She paused. "I know we can take them, but we need no distractions. And besides, I'm sure that we would be spotted by some hireling of the magister's. A month by sea, or who-knows-how-long by land with a chance of Hawke being gone when we get to her." Anders, Aveline, and Varric nodded, although Varric muttered something about 'how much Bianca hates the salty air', before there was a tremendous crash from downstairs. A loud murmur came from the tavern below, and there were a couple of grumbles and the sound of a tankard thudding to the thick wooden floor. Heavy footfalls pounded outside, the entire room seeming to shake. The door slammed open, and the group jumped, and reached for their various weapons, before they saw who it was.

Fenris darted towards Anders, face pale and green eyes wide in panic. His chest heaved and he gasped for air as he pressed a small pouch into the mages hands, it seemed as if he had run the whole way from Hightown. Anders opened his mouth to question, but he reached his hand inside the bag and drew out the small bundle of hairs. At first, Anders' eyes couldn't see a difference in them, until he rolled the bundle over. Fenris stared at him, muscles corded and tense as a bowstring as he waited.

"What does it mean, Anders?" Fenris' voice was low and scared, a tone that the mage normally would have mocked, but his tone matched Fenris' when he managed to reply in a hushed whisper.

"I don't know, Fenris." Aveline, Varric and Isabela craned to stare at what the other two men were so fixated on. It took a moment, but the jumping orange light of the nearby candles showed what had happened.

Three of the hairs had turned white.


End file.
